You've No Manner of Luck at All, Mate
by telegramsam
Summary: Norrington gets booted from the Navy for the loss of the Interceptor and Sparrow. This is by far NOT the end of his bad luck. COMPLETE note AU, written before DMC
1. Bad Luck's Beginning

James Norrington sat in the chair at his desk staring out of the window, completely motionless save the calm beating of his own heart. He had returned from the court martial trial some three hours ago, but he barely registered the passing of time except solely as the movement of the sun as it sunk over Port Royal toward the horizon.  
  
He felt oddly light, as though his body and soul were slightly out of synch and he was hovering slightly rather than truly sitting. He couldn't ever remember just sitting and watching the sun move across the heavens, not even as a child. He'd never really paid any more attention to nature than was necessary to note the weather, predict storms, and navigate at sea. James was not an idle man, nor was he predisposed to contemplation. He was a man of action, always working away at something. There was something to be done in the daily defense of Port Royal.  
  
As the sky darkened, he wondered why he'd never really noticed how the colors bleed into one another and change as the sun sinks below the edge of the world, painting the sky with reds, oranges, and purples before disappearing, and then one by one the stars would appear. It was startlingly beautiful and frightening at the same time. He briefly felt as though the sun would never return and ached for the loss of it though he knew in the logical part of his mind that it would return in the morning as it had since the birth of time.  
  
He also knew that being relieved of duty and dismissed from the Navy was not the end of life on Earth but he still felt like he was on the other side of Armageddon. He also knew that the full reality of it had not hit him yet, and the next few days were probably not going to be pleasant ones. There were things that would have to be dealt with, but he couldn't think about them right now. He certainly wasn't going to ponder how he'd spend the rest of his life now. He wasn't a poor man by any means, but he was still young and certainly couldn't live the rest of his life on the savings and few meager investments he currently had, never mind that the Navy had been his life since he was thirteen years old. But that could wait, at least until tomorrow.  
  
He wondered what Elizabeth and her young husband were doing at this moment. Probably settling down to a simple but warm meal prepared by Elizabeth herself. They had a young girl who came to their home twice a week to do the cleaning, but James knew that Will Turner most certainly could not afford a cook as well, even if he did make a respectable living from his fine swords and other goods. He'd heard from one of his own servants that Elizabeth may be expecting a child. He was happy for her, for both of them, really (or so he told himself), but he still couldn't help but wonder how his life would be now had he married Elizabeth. Sweet, fair Elizabeth. She had such spirit. Perhaps she belonged with the Turner boy. They were alike in many ways. He knew in his heart that she never would have been happy as the wife of a military man, but, as he had before proposing to her, he now still occasionally indulged in the fantasy that they would somehow have been the perfect husband and wife and lived happily ever after. If only those blasted pirates hadn't interfered...  
  
Pirates. Isn't that what started all of this? A small crew of petty pirates killed his father at sea and less than a year later, James was employed as cabin boy under a captain of the Royal Navy. It was odd how the unexpected turns in his life could be linked back to pirates. He wondered where Sparrow was right now, what was the old bastard doing? Was he still alive, roaming the seas on that precious Black Pearl of his with his scabbarous crew behind him? It had been scarcely six months since James made the foolish decision to let the man go free, but now it felt to him like it had been in another lifetime. Oh how he hated Sparrow.  
  
And if he were honest with himself, oh how he envied him. To have such freedom was something James Norrington could not even begin to fathom. His life had been sewn into a set of strict rules for all of his life: first his father's and then the navy's. Every day had been planned out carefully with schedules to follow and clear rules and well-defined responsibilities. What would it be like to live with no schedules? No responsibility to anyone save oneself? No rules save the unwritten, mysterious, and bendable rules of the pirate's world? He could never understand how those ships full of anarchists managed to get anything done. After all, the heathens didn't even have a real captain. The "captain" could be voted in or out like the leader of a boys' gang. They really were like children, after all. It was not a life that any self-respecting adult man would ever desire. No, not at all...  
  
-------  
  
Norrington woke suddenly, bolting upright. He scrubbed at the pain behind his eyes and blinked several times, wondering why his head was pounding so and why his shoulders were so stiff. He blinked and squinted at the light streaming in through the window which seemed unusually high for over a minute before he realized that he wasn't in his bed, but rather on the floor near his desk. Why was he sleeping on the floor?  
  
As he stretched out his legs, his foot struck something hard and sent it skittering across the floor to bounce against the wall. A large glass liquor bottle. An empty bottle that he remembered being nearly half-full of fairly expensive brandy at one point. Where had it gone to? He thought back to the night before. The last thing he recalled was watching the stars coming out through the window. He didn't remember getting drunk, but if the headache had anything to say about the matter, he apparently had.  
  
He bent over and closed his eyes tightly shut. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten drunk enough to develop a hangover the next day. Not since his late teens at least. He wasn't a lush by any stretch of the imagination. Indeed, he rarely drank at all and was often ribbed by the other officers for it.  
  
But then, he wasn't in the Navy anymore. There was no point in denying that fact. He was now very much an unemployed man, and that left a lot of unanswered questions. What could he possibly do for the rest of his life? The navy had been his reality for much of his childhood and all of his adult life. Did he know how to be anything else?  
  
He stood up and stretched before stripping down to his skin. He usually folded up his clothes and put them away immediately, but he just couldn't be bothered this morning. He flung them over the back of a chair and dragged his sluggish feet over to the chest to pull out something to wear for the day. He had no use for a uniform anymore. He reached to the very back of the bottom drawer and pulled out a plain, slightly yellowed shirt and a pair of britches and pulled them on, not bothering to button the shirt. He walked over to the water basin and plunged his face into the tepid water, considering for half a moment whether or not to come back up for air.  
  
---  
  
Norrington walked slowly along the beachfront. For the first time since he was a young child, he had nothing to do that day. No duties, no appointments, no tasks to attend to. He couldn't quite shake the nagging feeling that he was neglecting something, that he'd forgotten about something he needed to do that day. But then he reminded himself that no, he didn't really. He supposed that he ought to see about procuring new employment as soon as possible, but he honestly couldn't fathom himself being anything but an officer, and that road was closed to him forever. He came upon docks and stood watching the merchant sailors loading and unloading goods from the ships. He had worked for years to protect men like these from the threat of piracy. How many of the men standing there on the docks and ships right now would be dead if it weren't for him? But all it took to strip him of his life was a lost ship and a lost pirate. He knew that had he pursued Sparrow immediately and hanged both him and Turner the court martial would have had mercy on him in regards to the loss of the Interceptor but he knew that even if he could return to the past with his present knowledge, he wouldn't act differently. It was exceedingly rare for the law and his conscience to conflict, but when it did, he found it rather disconcerting. Did England care nothing for honor?  
  
He turned away from the docks and walked back up the road towards the town. There was a small quiet pub at the northwestern end of the town that he had been to on a few occasions in the past with governor Swann. Norrington wasn't a drinker himself, but the governor liked to go there to discuss matters of importance. Right now, he wanted someplace dark and quiet to sit, but he didn't want to go back home.  
  
As he stepped through the door, he instantly regretted it. Seated at a corner table was the governor himself. He was reading over various papers with a mug in one hand. The last thing he wanted now was to speak to anyone familiar. Norrington began walking to the opposite side of the room, hoping that he would remain unnoticed, but apparently his recent foul luck was not quite ready yet to give him peace. Governor Swann looked up as he passed by and stretched a hand out to touch the former Commodore's arm, beseeching him to sit down. Sighing inwardly and hesitating a heartbeat longer than was proper, Norrington turned and sat down in the seat opposite governor Swann.  
  
"Hello James... Listen, I'm awfully sorry about how things have turned out, and I wish I could have prevented it somehow, but I suppose what's done is done. At any rate, I wish to speak to you about something. I have a cousin in parliament. I could write to him about getting you a job in the government-" Norrington found himself getting more and more annoyed by the governor's speech as every second passed. He rarely ever lost his temper, but he was desperately tempted to just punch the old man in the teeth. Had he truly fallen so low? Was he to be simply an object of pity for all of his old associates? So he was unemployed. So the daughter of the man who sat before him had played him for a fool and used his heart until she no longer had use for it, only to discard him like something foul once he had saved her lover and spared his life. He still had some shred of dignity left. So instead of punching governor Swann, he simply stood up and cut him off mid- sentence.  
  
"No thank you governor Swann. I am perfectly capable of finding employment on my own. Good day to you sir."  
  
He turned and marched out of the pub, walking swiftly away from the governor's pity and trying to control the boiling anger which threatened to overtake him.  
  
After a few blocks, he began to calm down slightly, though he still wasn't sure whether he wanted to shoot something or just cry. As he stopped to lean against the side of a building, he saw beside him a sheet of paper crookedly tacked to the wall advertising that one of the ships currently in the harbor was looking for a few more men.  
  
James Norrington, a petty merchant sailor? It was unthinkable. His parents would do flips in their graves, and if his elder brother ever got wind of it, he'd laugh until he couldn't breath. But what else could he do? He was a sailor. He'd always been a sailor. What other skills did he really have? He knew his way around a ship and he knew the sea. The navy didn't want him any more, and what else could you do on the ocean? He ripped the flyer off the wall and headed back toward the docks. He scanned the names on the sides of the merchant vessels until he came to the one that was also printed on the flyer. The Grey Lady sat like tired old woman in the harbor. Norrington watched as men came with crates filled with bags of sugar, up and down the gangplank in an even stream. He looked up and spied the captain of the vessel standing near the railing overseeing his men's labor. Norrington walked up the gangplank in between the next two crates, and walked over to the captain to enquire about joining his crew. After a very brief discussion, Norrington was officially a member of the Grey Lady's crew, though under the name Geoffrey Smith. He wouldn't risk anyone recognizing him if he could help it. 


	2. Bad Luck and Bar Maids

Norrington pulled hard at the ropes with the other men, trying to draw in the sails as quickly as possible before the wind really kicked up. It had just started raining and the sky was quickly darkening to a menacing near- black slate color. They were in for a good storm, that much was certain.  
  
Over the moaning of the wind and the ominous creaking of the leaky vessel, he could hear the captain yelling at his crew to move faster. Once the sails were up, Norrington, along with all but a few of the crew and the captain, headed down into the belly of the Grey Lady to wait out the storm. The rest of the men headed over to the keg for beer and within a half an hour were having a jolly good time despite the dampness from the many leaks and the violent rocking of the ship. Norrington stood in the corner by himself watching the other men fraternizing like old friends and feeling more isolated than he ever had in his entire life. He didn't belong here.  
  
He turned around and left the room unnoticed by the others with one of the lamps to seek solitude in one of the cargo holds. Why the hell had he joined this merchant vessel's crew? He had hoped that being back at sea would make him feel less out of sorts, but the past week had, if anything, only increased his discomfort. He didn't know how to live a civilian life, much less get on with the lower classes. He stuck out like a sore thumb among these common men with no background to speak of and little education. Few of them could read or write more than their own name. he certainly couldn't carry on a decent conversation with them, no matter how he tried. He wasn't even sure the language they spoke was the same as his. Half the words they used had meanings he wasn't familiar with, and possessed more double-entendres than could be imagined.  
  
Norrington came to the furthest corner of the vessel, hung the lamp on a nail, and practically flopped down on one of the crates of sugar. He should have gone back to England. That would have been the reasonable, sane thing to do. Governor Swann had offered to write a letter to his cousin in parliament about getting him a respectable job with the government. Why the hell had he not taken it when he'd had the opportunity? Even now, though, he had to admit that a lifetime spent behind a desk doing endless paperwork was not something he desired, but he couldn't help but feel that at least there he wouldn't feel like he was trying to wear someone else's skin.  
  
Now, though, for the first time since the murder of his father, he simply felt lost. While in the Navy, he'd occasionally hear tales from captains and other officers of coming upon ghost ships -- ships that were found adrift without a single soul or body on them, the cargo intact, the ship totally sound, but devoid of life. Most people figured that the crews of such vessels had fallen victim to disease or starvation or some sort of madness, but nobody ever really knew the truth. Norrington wondered if his life was to become like one of those ships, just aimlessly drifting without purpose or meaning. And more importantly: If it did... would he even care? At this point, he wasn't really so sure. He wasn't sure about a lot of things anymore. He'd served England faithfully for most of his life, made God and Country his utmost responsibility, and one screw-up, one bad decision was all it took for England to dump him out on his ass. And where was God in all of this? He wasn't an exceedingly pious man, but he'd always believed that there was a God who watched over him and guided him, but now he had to wonder if He had abandoned him as well.  
  
Norrington rubbed at his temples, trying to ward off the headache he felt building behind his eyes, and for the first time since he was a lad, he felt mildly sea-sick, and not just for the increasingly violent rocking of the floor beneath him.  
  
---- Norrington sat bolt upright as the ship lurched sharply to the side. He stood as the various crates slid across the floor towards the port side of the hold. The Grey Lady groaned like a dying beast and there was cracking, stretching sound. It took Norrington half a heartbeat to recognize it for what it was. This leaky old ship was not going to last out the storm. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him and scrambled back up on deck. The rest of the crew was already present, trying desperately to keep the leaky bucket afloat, but obviously losing.  
  
Suddenly the captain yelled out "Abandon ship!!" and everyone began scrambling for the lifeboats, Norrington included. He thought it a shame, because the second they scrambled into the small dinghies and rowed clear of the lurching ship, the wind began to die down. It was too late though. The Grey Lady and her cargo of sugar quickly disappeared under the still- choppy Caribbean waters.  
  
Although the wind had abated, it was still raining steadily and Norrington and the other sailors were soaked through to the skin. Tempers flared and a couple of men in the back of Norrington's boat began a fistfight. Having had quite enough irritation for the evening, Norrington finally decided composure and manners be damned and turned around to give both of them a sold whack with his oar.  
  
A few yards ahead in another dinghy, the captain stood up and yelled to the men, pointing at a spot on the horizon. Norrington couldn't here what he said precisely but it was clear that they were to head in that direction. It would be at least a day and a half of hard rowing to get there.  
  
-----  
  
They were nearing the island and not a second too soon. The rain clouds had dissipated that morning and by the afternoon, it was scorching hot. His muscles screamed their protest as did his dry throat. He breathed an audible sigh of relief as they finally tied their boats to the docks. As the other men piled out of the boats, he turned to the former captain.  
  
"I don't suppose you know the name of this island?"  
  
"Tortuga."  
  
Norrington's relief faded quickly. Of all the godforsaken places he could've ended up, he had to be here. Tor-bloody-tuga. He started to snicker quietly before bursting out laughing in earnest, falling on his arse on the dock and near tears. The other men looked at him suspiciously before dispersing into the town. His captain was the last to go, finally shrugging and leaving Norrington to his madness.  
  
His hysterical laughter finally subsided and he flopped down flat on his back on the wet dock, arms spread out and staring at the cloudless blue of the sky. Life was very strange indeed. If anyone had asked him a year ago where he'd be today, he would have said Port Royal or England or even China before he would've said Tortuga. How absurd his life had become! He wondered if God was playing a fine joke on him. Norrington hoped that He was getting some kind of amusement out of it anyhow, because he certainly was not.  
  
He wondered what his father would say if he were still alive. He'd probably disown his second son that instant. Perhaps he ought to write a letter to Edward. His brother would no doubt get a hearty laugh out of the tale. He no doubt would hear about his baby brother's dismissal from the Navy very soon anyhow if he hadn't already. He was probably expecting little James to show up on his doorstep any second now asking for help so he could gloat over his little brother. They had never gotten along particularly well as children. Edward still took every chance he could to get under his skin and berate him on his supposed total lack of competence.  
  
Norrington rolled forward, hauling himself back to his feet. He scanned the harbor to the left of him for anything that might be a non-piratical ship, then proceeded to look over the town in front of him. What a disgrace. Positively filthy. Most port towns where dirty anyhow, but Tortuga took the cake. Shaking his head, he continued on to the right, looking at the other half of the harbor. His eyes settled on a ship about 50 yards down the beachfront. Poorly-mended black sails.  
  
Oh, of all the rotten luck! Could things possibly get any worse? He figured probably not, save actually meeting up with the hare-brained, limp-wristed captain of that ship. Norrington pulled his hat down low, obscuring his eyes and praying to God that nobody would recognize him as he marched towards the "town" (if you even wanted to call the collection of dilapidated constructions and piles of filth such a thing). If they did, he ran a high risk of getting himself killed. After all, he'd given these pirates all kinds of grief for several years, not to mention hanging over a hundred of them. He doubted they'd take kindly to his presence in their beloved rat nest.  
  
----  
  
Norrington turned and headed towards the ramshackle town. He wandered through the mostly quiet streets. It felt odd; he figured things would be much more wild, but if the numerous passed out pirates laying in the gutters said anything about it, things probably got much more interesting after sunset. He walked quickly down the streets, scanning the various signs hanging over doors, looking for a quiet and hopefully not-entirely- disgusting tavern. He headed towards the eastern end of the town where he finally stopped in front of a propped-open door. Overhead hung a sign that had probably been painted in bright colors at one point in time, but now only small curls of dull color remained here and there over the name The Laughing Sailor. He tentatively stuck his head through the door and was pleased to note that save a drunk man passed out at a table in the far corner and a young woman drying and putting up recently-washed dishes and tankards behind the bar, it was empty.  
  
He stepped into the poorly-lit and poorly-ventilated building. Although stiflingly hot and stuffy, he was pleased to note that it was reasonably clean. He noted a door in the back of the room leading what looked to be an office and a staircase. There must be an inn above the tavern as well.  
  
The young woman behind the bar looked up at him as he walked up to the bar. She eyed him curiously. Norrington cocked an eyebrow in question. She smiled slightly at him.  
  
"No' many customers a' this time o' day."  
  
She put down the glass she'd been drying and turned to him fully.  
  
"Can I help ye?"  
  
Norrington swallowed thickly. He was loathe to speak but if he didn't he wouldn't get food. If he did, his accent would give him away. He never could manage to mimic the brogue of the lower classes. He'd attempted to on the Grey Lady on one occasion and only succeeded in making the other men think he either had a speech impediment or was an imbecile.  
  
She looked at him apprehensively again.  
  
"Did ye hear me? I asked can I help ye?"  
  
He finally decided that it probably didn't matter anyhow; this bar wench was not likely to either recognize him or care if she did. She wasn't a pirate after all.  
  
"Yes... Miss. Do you serve food here?"  
  
She lifted an eyebrow slightly at his obviously not-from-around-here accent, but didn't comment on it. Norrington had to stifle a sigh of relief.  
  
"Aye, but I'm afraid there's no' much choice. We only serve beef stew, though it's reasonably good."  
  
Norrington's stomach growled and he had to agree with it: Stew would be heaven-sent at this point.  
  
"That would be splendid."  
  
The woman disappeared into the kitchen and a few moments later came out with a bowl of warm stew and placed it before him with a spoon.  
  
"It's been sittin' in the pot for abou' an hour, but it should still be good. Ye wan' anythin' ter go wi' that?"  
  
His first impulse was to order water, but that would give him away far too much, not to mention risk contracting dysentery. This wasn't Port Royal, after all.  
  
"Beer, I suppose."  
  
She dropped a tankard in front of him before turning and continuing her work with the dishes and ignoring him.  
  
Norrington took a sip of the beer. It was watery stuff, tasting more like lukewarm piss than actual beer. Well, he hadn't really wanted spirits anyhow. At least the stew was still warm. He ate slowly at first, but eventually realized that manners were wasted in such an environment and practically gulped the rest of it. His stomach turned slightly when he was done from receiving so much food so quickly after being empty but he managed to choke back the impulse to vomit.  
  
He stood up and dropped a few coins on the bar.  
  
"I assume that there's an inn above this?"  
  
Without even glancing at him, the bar wench nodded her head and pointed through the door near the end of the bar to the office in the back. Norrington headed over to the desk and without speaking dropped a few more coins onto the desk. The middle-aged balding man sitting behind it pocked the coins first, then reached back and pulled a key off a hook on the wall and tossed it to Norrington.  
  
"That'll cover the week sir, 'less yer wantin' change?"  
  
Norrington paused. He hadn't yet thought about his plans for the immediate future beyond collapsing onto a bed. After a few moments, the man spoke again, cutting off his thoughts.  
  
"If ye ain't sure, don' worry 'bout it. If ye leave b'fore the week's up, jus' come back an I'll give ye what's left of yer money. Tha' key's te the room at the end o' the hall, on yer left."  
  
Temporarily and blessedly relieved of the immediate duty of having to sort things out, Norrington nodded and dragged himself up the stairs and to his room. It was small and nearly as stuffy as the tavern below it. He walked over to the window and wrenched it up, hoping to coax in a bit of fresh air before tossing his hat on the chair in the corner and collapsing onto the bed without bothering to remove his boots.  
  
----  
  
James knew he wasn't supposed to be in his father's study, but if he didn't catch the wild sparrow that had flown in through the window before his father got home, he'd be in trouble. He leaped around the room chasing the small beast and trying to avoid breaking anything, but no matter how hard he tried, it stayed ever just out of his grasp. It would light somewhere and he would come within a hair's breadth of getting his hands around it when it would leap out of the way, twittering in amusement. Suddenly, the door burst open and his father marched in, red-faced and ranting about what a disappointment James was becoming while beating his fist on the desk. The sparrow perched on the bookcase behind his father, laughing to itself.  
  
----  
  
Norrington woke up suddenly in a cold sweat. He breathed in deeply, trying to still his heart. The yelling was gone. The thumping noises, however, continued, coming from below him. He looked out the window and was surprised to find that it was dark out, probably nearing midnight. He hadn't intended to sleep that long. He must've been more exhausted than he'd thought. The noises were coming from the tavern below, which was no doubt filled with patrons of dubious moral fiber.  
  
Norrington stood up and rubbed firmly at his eyes. A dull headache throbbed in his temples and his throat felt like cotton. There was no way he'd get back to sleep, so he pulled his hat on and slowly made his way back down the stairwell to the tavern below. It was indeed as full and noisy as he'd anticipated. There was a full-out brawl developing near the door until the bar wench suddenly doused the men involved with a bucket of water and ordered them outside. Norrington laughed quietly to himself. That was probably the closest thing to a bath those filthy pirates had received in years. Turning back to the room, the bar wench sighted Norrington at the end of the bar and swiftly crossed the room to him.  
  
"Wake ye up, did they? Sorry 'bout tha', there's really naught te be done about preventin' such things. Here-"  
  
She dropped a tankard full of the same weak beer he'd had that afternoon on the bar in front of him.  
  
"On the house."  
  
Norrington muttered his thanks and accepted the drink. He drank it slowly, keeping his gaze down. He didn't think he could stand going back to that dark, cramped, and quiet room to be alone with his thoughts, but he didn't want to risk being caught either. Mercifully, the bedlam went on behind him, and though at one point he was nearly doused in a foul-smelling ale, for the most part he was left undisturbed. The young woman came by occasionally and refilled his mug for him, throwing a sympathetic look his way. How much she had discerned of his origin he wasn't sure, but she certainly didn't bear any ill will towards him. She seemed to pity him more than anything else.  
  
As the night pushed on, the pirates dropped like flies, leaving it to the barmaid to drag them outside into the street. Eventually, around what Norrington estimated to be around three hours prior to dawn, the pub was again quiet and nearly empty as it had been during the day. The bar wench walked over and sat down on a stool directly opposite him, staring at his face with a wry expression. Norrington felt exceedingly uncomfortable under her silent gaze, but eventually she spoke.  
  
"Ye don't exac'ly fit in 'ere, do ye?"  
  
"I suppose not."  
  
"I take it yer not a pirate."  
  
"Hardly."  
  
"Yer in Tortuga, though."  
  
"The merchant vessel I was employed on sank. This was the nearest land."  
  
"So ye were a captain then."  
  
"No, just a common sailor."  
  
"Ye don' sound all tha' common te me. Sounds te me like ye come from a good family. One with money. Ye sure yer jus' a common sailor?"  
  
"Quite."  
  
"So how does a man o' obvious breedin' end up a common sailor then?"  
  
He knew it to be extremely rude not to respond when spoken to, particularly if the speaker was a woman, even one of low status such as the woman in front of him, but he just couldn't muster the inclination to reply to this busybody, so he simply glared instead. How indeed.  
  
"Tha's alright. If ye don' wanna talk about it, I understand. I 'pologize fer prying where it's no' my business. Sorry if I offended ye."  
  
Norrington felt slightly guilty. She hadn't really done anything awful. Indeed, she'd been rather kind to him since he walked into her tavern that afternoon.  
  
"No, no. I'm not offended. I'm merely tired."  
  
"Well I can see tha'. Ye look positively mis'rable."  
  
Norrington looked down at his fingernails, suddenly finding them the most interesting thing on the planet. He hated discussions like this. He didn't like talking about his problems with other people and he simply couldn't stand to appear even remotely weak. In the Navy, it was imperative that he always save face in front of his men or how would they ever respect him?  
  
When the woman leaned over and cocked her head to the side, trying to look at his down turned face, he was startled out of his thoughts.  
  
"I really ought to retire for the night. Thank you for the beer."  
  
He stood up and turned to leave when the woman placed a hand on his arm.  
  
"If ye ever need a friend, I'm always around her."  
  
"Thank you miss, I'll keep that in mind."  
  
He pulled away again and was halfway to the stairwell when the woman yelled after him.  
  
"The name's Dabria, not 'miss!'"  
  
He stepped onto the stairs when she yelled a second time.  
  
"Well? What about you?"  
  
He paused for a second. He wouldn't risk giving his real name to anyone on this island, but he wanted to tell her something. He supposed the name he had used on the Grey Lady would have to suffice.  
  
"Geoffrey."  
  
The corners of his lips twitched in the hint of a smile that he couldn't totally prevent as he returned to his room. Maybe not everyone in this pirate town was completely loathsome. 


	3. Bad Luck and Brawls

When Norrington next awoke, it was nearly noon, yet he was loathe to rise from the bed. It was somewhat disconcerting to him how incredibly undisciplined he'd become less than two months away from the navy. He groaned and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. It's not like he had anything to do. He was marooned in a pirate nest, he had no friends, limited funds, and no foreseeable manner of leaving the island. He doubted that there were any ships in the harbor that didn't belong to pirates, and even if there were, he had no way of bartering passage. In a brief moment of insanity which he immediately dismissed afterward, he considered tracking down Sparrow and begging his old rival for aid. Frankly, though, he'd rather have his gums scraped than bargain with that madcap. He still had some dignity left, after all.  
  
Finally, he rolled over and onto his feet. He pulled on his boots and hat and headed downstairs. Dabria wasn't in sight, so he simply walked out the front door. How was he going to spend the day? It was an odd feeling still, having to even ask that question. He wandered idly through the quiet streets of the town, stepping over the passed-out drunks, finally making his way down to the beach. He walked along the sand, past the harbor towards a relatively uninhabited portion of the island. There was a small lagoon created by a reef several yards out. The water was a clear blue- green and warm from the sun.  
  
Norrington decided at that instant that the first thing he was going to do that day was take a swim. Glancing around to make sure no-one was present (though who would be?), he stripped down to his skin and slowly walked into the warm lagoon. Salt water wasn't exactly ideal to bathe in, but it felt like heaven. He was almost giddy. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done something like this. He hadn't been allowed to swim naked in the ocean since he was a very young child (and only then when his father was away on business, for he wouldn't allow such frivolous behavior in his sons). He closed his eyes and leaned backwards, floating in the warm salt water.  
  
Norrington was nearly asleep when he heard what sounded like ruffling fabric. It took him several moments to react, but eventually he stood up in the water and opened his eyes. He caught sight of a small and extremely filthy child picking through the pockets of his discarded clothing. The child suddenly looked up, just as surprised as Norrington at being caught. Norrington suddenly registered what the child was doing and bolted out of the water, chasing down the dirty whelp who'd robbed his coin purse. The boy was devilishly quick though, dashing over the hill and back towards the town.  
  
Norrington cried out in exasperation and dropped to his knees in the sand. He couldn't very well run into town after the brat wearing nothing but what he was born in. He started laughing again, as he had the day before, but this time rather than dissipating as it had begun, they turned into a sharp keening sound of anguish. Norrington finally shut his eyes tightly and bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from crying out of sheer frustration. He shook his head to clear mind and stood up, walking slowly back to where his plundered clothing lay to redress himself.  
  
His life was officially over. He had thought that it was officially over when he'd been court martialed and booted out of the navy, he'd thought that was officially over when he'd joined that merchant vessel, and then when it sank, but he'd been wrong. The moment when his life officially ended was when that dirty urchin ran off with the only money he still possessed on his person. Oh he owned a bit of land and had accounts with more than one bank, but a fat lot of good that would do him here. He may as well be a beggar on the streets. At the end of the week, when the money he'd given to the innkeeper ran out, he would indeed be on the streets, if he were even still alive at that point.  
  
Norrington sat on the hill, staring out at the ocean as the sun traveled across the heavens. As it neared the horizon, he finally pulled himself to his feet and walked back over the hill.  
  
----  
  
Slowly, Norrington made his way back through town to The Laughing Sailor. As he walked in the door, he was greeted cheerily by Dabria. He gave her a pathetic wave in return without even looking at her and was about to head back upstairs to re-bury himself in blankets and try to pretend he no longer existed when she grabbed his wrist and pulled him over to the bar, pushing him onto a stool.  
  
"What happened this time?"  
  
"What are you talking about? Nothing happened. I went for a walk, had a swim. Very pleasant."  
  
"Yer lying te me. Ye look even more mis'rable than ye did las' night. If I didn't know any better, I'd guess yer dog jus' died or somethin'."  
  
Norrington looked at the cheeky barmaid and gave her the biggest, most sarcastic grin he could muster.  
  
"Oh no, I don't own a dog. You see, I was having a very nice swim in the lagoon beyond the docks when this delightful little child decided he'd play a little game and run off with my coin purse. So of course, I can buy no more food and at the end of the week I'll be sleeping under the stars. But no, everything is positively peachy."  
  
"Jeezus, Geoffrey. Tha's quite a tale. Ye must have the worst luck of any man this side of the Atlantic. But don't worry so much. I won't let ye starve, or sleep on the streets."  
  
She laughed lightly and walked away towards the kitchen. Norrington had the odd desire to strangle the life out of the uncouth woman, at least until she came back with another bowl of stew and set it down in front of him, followed by a mug of good rum.  
  
"Here ye go, Geoff. Eat up. Drink too, good for what ails ye."  
  
She pushed the bowl further towards him and practically shoved the mug into his hand. He wanted to strangle her again, but settled for glaring at her instead. He knew he ought to be showing gratitude for her kindness, but his ego was more than slightly injured at the notion of being someone else's charity case. Since reaching adulthood, he'd managed every problem he had without the aid of others, and he didn't care to change that now. He prided himself on being competent, regardless, or perhaps in spite of, what his brother always said of him.  
  
"And stop makin' a mountain out of a bloody molehill. Things'll work out in the end. They always do, ye know."  
  
Norrington wished that he could have her optimism, but at this point, he could only see an early grave in his future. Even if she fed him, that still didn't mean he had a means of leaving this shit hole. That's what it was, really. A shit hole. He hated the term, had chastised a man under him at one point for using the term on a regular basis, but at this point he felt it highly appropriate. Molehill indeed.  
  
"A molehill, huh?"  
  
He lifted the mug and gave it a sniff before taking a gulp. No watery beer tonight. That was fine by him though. For the first time in ages, he had no greater desire than to get thoroughly smashed. He just hoped Dabria would allow him to do so.  
  
----  
  
The Laughing Sailor quickly filled to capacity not long after the sun's retreat. Norrington was having a marvelous time. Lubricated by rum, he was full into a marvelous tale about a Scotsman and a three-legged donkey. It was the same ridiculous story that he had rolled his eyes at when he overheard one of his junior officers telling it to the other men years ago. He probably would have been astounded that he even remembered it had he been sober. He probably also would have noticed the three unsavory figures included in the group he was entertaining glaring at him in a most predatory way and casting meaningful looks at one another. He probably also would've recognized the shaggy-haired figure in the back corner of the room that could barely contain his curiosity, and then his own laughter which had nothing at all to do with the story being told.  
  
Norrington finally finished his tale, which resulted in resounding laughter from every corner of the tavern. He excused himself from the group and stumbled outside to relieve himself in the alley. It was dark and cool out. Probably rain later, he thought idly as he pissed into the dust. As he turned around to return to the tavern, he ran into something large and rather solid. Leaning against the huge pirate's broad chest, he looked up into the man's cruelly grinning face. He mistook the expression for simple amusement.  
  
"Oh, hello, sshir. Did jyoo like th'sto-ree?"  
  
"Oh yes, Commodore, it was grand."  
  
Norrington's expression shifted from one of oblivious happiness to one of confusion. His first thought was "but I'm not a commodore anymore" but it was quickly followed by one of "Oh shit!" He stood up and backed away from the man. It was only then that he noticed the two other pirates behind him.  
  
"Yes Commodore, 'twas an amusing tale. I've an amusing tale too, ye know. One where me brother ends at the gallows."  
  
The pirate shouted the last part, and Norrington gulped. He started to stumble along the wall, trying to move away from the pirates when a large fist connected with his head, sending him to the ground. He clutched at his head and tried to stand, to no avail. More fists came at him, hitting him everywhere. As the pain blossomed, he heard a shot go off, followed by a searing pain in his shoulder. He heard another shot, and a heavy weight fell across his chest as his world turned red, then black. 


	4. Bad Luck and Brigands

Norrington wondered if he were dead. He could feel the world rocking below him. It reminded him of being at sea. He tried to move, but immediately regretted doing so. Pain flared in his shoulder and he cried out. A moment later, a hand was at the back of his throbbing head, tilting it forward as something cool was pressed to his lips. He drank the water without thinking for a second that it might be poison. The cup and hand left, and only then did Norrington consider that maybe he wasn't actually dead and began to wonder where he was. He tried to open his eyes, to find the left one swollen shut and the other nearly so. He squinted out at the world from his right eye. There was light coming from somewhere above and behind him, and the ceiling was of dark brown timbers. The ground below him was still rocking, and he knew that he must be aboard a ship. One of the pirates must've taken him. He was probably being held for ransom. He wasn't in the navy anymore though, and no one would pay the demands. He was going to die at the hands of brigands like his father before him. How utterly melodramatic. He really shouldn't be surprised though. He shut his eye again and tried to breath. Why was it so hard to breath? And why was his face wet?  
  
The hands returned, this time with a cool cloth gently washing over his face and neck. He grimaced several times as it moved over the numerous sore places.  
  
"Quiet a spill ye had there, Commodore."  
  
The voice sounded familiar, but the haze over his brain prevented him from placing a face or a name with it. He managed to choke out the only thing he could think of to say:  
  
"I'm not a commodore anymore. If you're looking for ransom money, I'm completely worthless."  
  
Rich laughter floated down from above him.  
  
"Oh I wouldn't go so far's t'say a thing like that, commodore or not."  
  
The hands slowly and gently rolled him onto his side.  
  
"I suppose I ought to warn ye, this might hurt a bit."  
  
Something was being pulled off of his aching shoulder. Bandages, it felt like. Something cold was poured over it, and the pain amplified tenfold. He bit the inside of his cheek. He didn't want to show weakness in front of this pirate, whoever he was. Something firmer came down on the wound, rubbing lightly. Finally, he cried out anyhow, and his world turned black again.  
  
----  
  
Edward and James were both home from boarding school for the holidays, and James couldn't have been more displeased. At least at school he was more or less able to avoid his older brother, but at home, he could find no escape. Even after falling several feet out of the tree, he could get no peace from Edward's constant taunting  
  
"You're such a little pansy, James. It's just a scratch. You're seven bloody years old, stop crying like a girl."  
  
"I'm not a girl!"  
  
"Yes you are. You're a big baby girl! Girly-boy! Girly-boy"  
  
"Shut up Edward!"  
  
"Girly-boy, girly-boy, girly-boy!"  
  
"I said stop it!"  
  
"Why should I? Are you going to run to mummy and tell on me like a big baby girl?"  
  
----  
  
"Stop it, Edward!"  
  
His brother finally disappeared. Suddenly, Norrington was startled by a voice that came from across the room.  
  
"Who's Edward?"  
  
He knew that he probably shouldn't reply, after all, if the pirates couldn't ransom him to the navy, they might try his brother. At this point though, he didn't care. He almost wanted them to. He savored the idea of his brother having to cough up a large sum for his incompetent baby brother. A form of revenge. He tried to open his eyes again and was pleased to discover that the left one would open a little now as well. He turned his head to the side, but couldn't make out the source of the voice.  
  
"My older brother."  
  
"Ah. I never knew ye 'ad a brother."  
  
"Why should you even care?"  
  
"Oh Norrington, ye wound me. 'Ave ye so little faith in yer own friends?"  
  
"I should hardly consider—"  
  
Oh God. He knew that voice now. There could be no mistaking it any longer.  
  
"Sparrow!?!?!!"  
  
He sat almost straight up, but his shoulder protested violently to the shift in position, and he cried out for the third time in front of the pirate and fell back against the pillow.  
  
Sparrow practically giggled at him. It was an odd sound.  
  
"That's CAPTAIN Sparrow, mate. How many times must I remind you? Those brutes must've addled yer brains more than I thought. And ye should at least 'ave enough sense not to worry tha' shoulder o' yers. Ye took a shot 'fore I could get those sodding bastards off o' ye."  
  
Norrington shut his eyes again, tightly, and tried to even out his breathing before replying quietly.  
  
"Are you informing me that I owe my life to you, Sparrow?"  
  
"Fer th' last bloody time, tha's CAPTAIN Sparrow. And I'd say it appears tha' way."  
  
Norrington silently prayed that the bed below him would open up and swallow him whole. Although three-legged donkeys would fly through a frozen hell before he'd ever admit it to himself, a piece of him was mildly relieved that Sparrow had found him. That didn't mean he was happy that he now owed the bastard his life, however.  
  
"Ye know, it was the oddest thing I ever saw. At first I couldn't quite believe it, te be honest. The Navy's own sittin' in a Tortuga tavern, drunk and tellin' a rather ridiculous tale. Thought I'd lost me mind fer a minute."  
  
"And what makes you so certain you've still got a mind left to lose, Captain?"  
  
Sparrow just laughed heartily.  
  
"There's me old James Bloody Norrington. Glad te know there's still a shred o' the old Commodore under all those bruises."  
  
Norrington ground his teeth slightly. He hoped Sparrow was grateful that he was currently incapacitated, because had he not been, he probably would've strangled the life out of the pirate that moment.  
  
"If ye need anythin', mate, don' feel afraid te yell."  
  
Like he'd ever ask for anything from Sparrow. He heard the pirate captain stand up from his position at the corner of the room and watched him walk out the door, leaving Norrington to his own thoughts as he lay in the captain's quarters by himself. Norrington only then realized that he was probably on Sparrow's own bed at the moment. He prayed to God and all the saints that the man didn't have lice, or, more likely, fleas.  
  
---  
  
There was little to do in the following hours but think. After all, he could scarcely move without upsetting his shoulder, and his entire face still felt like it had been trod upon by an army. Recent events certainly gave him plenty to think about. He did, however, come to one certain conclusion: Life is very strange. His life in particular had grown rather ridiculous in the past few months. He wondered idly where this ship he was currently guest on would take him. Knowing Sparrow, it would be somewhere equally preposterous.  
  
The barmaid, Dabria, had said that he had the worst luck of anyone this side of the Atlantic. He wasn't a superstitious man in the slightest (which was unusual among sailors), but now he had to wonder if he had indeed been placed under some sort of hex. He mentally prepared the laundry list: First Elizabeth had played him for a sap, using his love for her to get the Turner boy back. In the events that followed, he lost several men and a ship, as well as Elizabeth herself. Ultimately, all he got from following his heart and doing the honorable thing was the loss of his career and life as he knew it. Then in a fit of foolish pride, he turned down governor Swann's offer of a job and joined that bloody merchant's crew. Less than a week later, that leaky ship sunk to the bottom of the ocean, leaving him stranded in Tortuga. From there, he was robbed by a child and later beaten and shot by pirates. And now he'd been delivered into the hands of the one man he had never wanted to see again: Jack Sparrow.  
  
Norrington was distracted from his misery briefly when a dark-skinned woman walked in with a try of food of some sort which she put on the desk. She walked over to him, dragged him into a sitting position rather more roughly than he thought entirely necessary, upsetting his aching shoulder causing him to groan audibly, and all without speaking a word to him. She then retrieved the tray, and deposited it unceremoniously onto his lap before turning away from him abruptly.  
  
"Miss...?"  
  
The woman turned around and shot him a glare that could fry a glacier before leaving the room and slamming the door behind her. He assumed, rather correctly, that she wasn't pleased with his presence aboard the Black Pearl.  
  
He shook his head and looked down at the tray. Pea soup, salt pork, and hard bread. And, predictably enough, a mug of rum. After what happened when he previously drank the cursed brew, he wasn't about to touch it, no matter how much his body ached. Thankfully, there was a cup of water beside it as well. He caught himself thinking that it was kind of Sparrow to offer him an alternative, but squashed it immediately. He still hated the man, after all. He ate the food slowly, even though he was half starving. When he was done, he carefully placed the try on the floor, trying not to spill over the untouched rum. It was somewhat difficult considering that he had only one useable arm at the moment. He lay back down, and boredom and exhaustion took over and he slept again.  
  
----  
  
Norrington slept the rest of the day, waking only when he felt a warm hand on his good shoulder, lightly shaking him. He opened his now somewhat less swollen eyes and his face immediately fell into a scowl when he noticed Sparrow leaning over him with his trademark Cheshire-cat grin.  
  
"Sorry t'interrupt yer nap, sleepin' beauty, but it's supper time."  
  
Before Norrington had a chance to protest to being called something as asinine as "sleeping beauty," another tray was presented to him. He pulled himself upright, this time under his own power thankfully, and took his supper. It was the same meal he'd had for lunch. This time, however, there was no rum. He was even hungrier than he'd been at noon, and dived into his dinner without hesitation. Sparrow just watched him while silently smirking, waiting for Norrington to finish before speaking.  
  
"So, Commodore, please do tell: how does a man like yerself end up in Tortuga dressed like a common man and drunk no less?"  
  
Norrington glared at Sparrow.  
  
"I told you before. I'm not Commodore any longer, or for that matter, an officer of the navy. I'm sure that will amuse you to know end."  
  
He dropped his gaze to his now-empty bowl and waited, expecting the pirate to laugh at him or otherwise ridicule him. He nearly jumped in surprise when the man did neither.  
  
"Sorry te hear tha', mate. May I ask how tha' odd turn of events came about?"  
  
Norrington didn't reply. He didn't want to talk about it, not with anyone, and especially not his former enemy.  
  
"Well, I can see ye don't wan' te discuss it right now. I will make a deal with ye though. I'll hear yer tale b'fore ye can leave this ship. Take as much time as ye wan' to getting to it, but yer gonna tell me. An' when ye have, I'll drop ye off at whatever port ye ask, s'long as it's in th'Atlantic."  
  
"Why could you possibly care less how I got here?"  
  
"Jus' personal curiosity. I can always appreciate an odd tale, and I can't imagine yers being anything but odd. Anyhow, ye've got free run o' me ship fer the time being. I'd stay away from th'crew if I were you, though. A few of 'em aren't too happy about you bein' here. 'Specially Anamaria. Ye met her at lunch, I s'pose. Ye can take yer meals in here if ye don't want to eat with 'em."  
  
Norrington hated Sparrow. He hated even more so at that moment than ever before. How dare that pirate pry into his personal life! A bit of sport, that's all he was to Sparrow. That's all anyone was to Sparrow: a bit of sport and little else. Nothing but a game.  
  
Sparrow turned to leave, and was halfway to the door when he stopped, looking back over his shoulder at Norrington.  
  
"Ye know, it doesn't make ye any less of a man te accept a bit o' help from others now and then... Or a bit o' sympathy neither."  
  
He left the room before Norrington could argue. Not that he could think of anything to say in response anyhow, though he could've ripped the man's head off if he'd had the strength to do so. 


	5. Good Luck and Better Brothers

It was a week before he spoke more than a few words to Sparrow again, spending most of his time avoiding the man as much as possible while on a ship. Most of his time was spent standing at the railing, staring over the water. The only time he was forced into contact with Sparrow was when the man dragged him into the cabin to clean his wound and change the bandaging, which was usually done in near-silence on Norrington's part.  
  
At the end of the week though, he got the chance to witness two raids on other ships, once in the morning, and again in the afternoon. That morning, he was surprised when he realized that the other ship was also a pirate ship. It wasn't looted either. Sparrow's crew boarded the other vessel, brought a few members of the other crew aboard, and either killed or sank the rest with the ship along with its captain. He asked Sparrow what the point of it was afterward, and the only reply he got was a cryptic "Bloody bastards deserved it." He couldn't really protest to the sinking of a pirate ship, as he had done the same on several occasions for essentially the same reason, but he still found the whole incident very unexpected.  
  
The second raid was on a Spanish vessel carrying gold from South America. It too was boarded, and the men rounded up on deck at pistol- and cutlass- point while the rest of the Pearl's crew relieved them of about a third of their gold and a few crates of food and fresh water. None of the ship's crew was done any permanent damage. It was positively tame by pirate raiding standards, but Norrington still glared at Sparrow with all the ire he could muster. He may be a guest aboard the Black Pearl but that didn't mean he had to approve of its activities.  
  
---  
  
Back in the cabin later on, a small-scale war was brewing. Norrington had sworn to himself earlier that he would not get into an argument with Sparrow over his "business" but once he started, all the anger and frustration of late just bubbled up to the surface and he couldn't restrain himself.  
  
"What on Earth did you even need that gold for? You've got a whole bloody cavern full of the stuff on an island nobody can find! It's reprehensible! I should've hanged you when I had the chance!"  
  
"First off, d'ye even know where that Spanish gold comes from?"  
  
The question confused Norrington. What difference did it make where they got it?  
  
"Various parts of South America, of course. I don't see how it's relevant."  
  
"There ain't just the Spanish in South America, ye know. Long b'fore old Christopher Columbus waltzed into th' so-called New World, there were people livin' here. Nations. Empires. Spain's turned 'em all in te slaves, stripped them of their wealth."  
  
"I don't see how the fate of a few savages change anything."  
  
For the first time since Norrington met the scatter-brained pirate, Sparrow looked angry.  
  
"They aren't just a few savages, mate. They're human beings, no matter how strange they seem te us. An' a whole bloody lot of them at that, or at leas' there were b'fore Europe sent over all its guns and plagues. The kings of Europe are as much a bunch of pirates as I am, love. Even, fer example, jolly old England."  
  
Norrington only barely stopped himself from punching the man where he stood. Beyond the insult though, he was further angered by the fact that if he were honest with himself, he had to admit the man was right.  
  
"That still doesn't make it right. Two sins do not make virtue."  
  
"Perhaps, or perhaps not. Why d'ye hate pirates so much anyhow? Most folks don't care for us, but I've never met someone as stiff-assed about it as you."  
  
"It was a bastard like you who killed my father."  
  
Norrington knew that it was an unfair accusation. It was a pirate who killed is father, but Sparrow wasn't that sort of bastard, and he knew it. Sparrow simply lifted an eyebrow at that statement.  
  
"Well mate, I'm sorry fer that. Honestly. Fer what it's worth, a pirate killed me pa as well, but ye don't see me chasin' every brigand in the sea like it were th'end o' the world comin' if I didn't kill every last one. 'Course, me pa was a pirate as well, but that doesn't change the fact of it."  
  
"That's beside the point."  
  
"Possibly. Probably. But on yer previous point, tha' cavern is nearly empty now."  
  
Norrington laughed incredulously.  
  
"I find it hard to believe that even you and your crew could spend that much gold so quickly, Sparrow."  
  
"CAPTAIN Sparrow, and I'm no' lyin'. It's gone, fer the most part."  
  
"Dare I ask where it all went?"  
  
Sparrow grinned brightly at him, flashing yet more gold.  
  
"Ye might ask yer old governor Swann tha' question."  
  
It took a minute for his meaning to sink in, but when it did, Norrington's jaw dropped.  
  
"You. I don't believe it. You? You were the anonymous donor responsible for the repairs on Port Royal?"  
  
Sparrow nodded.  
  
"Yessir, th'gold in that cavern was never mine t'begin with. Barbossa'd been rather busy the past ten years. Wrecked a lot o' good towns. Figured th'least I could do was use 'is gold t'elp clean up 'is mess. And quite a mess 'e did make."  
  
Norrington started laughing, and once he started, he couldn't stop. It seems life was not yet finished handing him surprises, though this was decidedly more pleasant than the other recent surprises. For once, he had done something right. He hadn't completely screwed up when he let Sparrow go after all. For once, his instincts had been correct. Sparrow wasn't a devil after all. Funny how in less than a minute, he'd gone from wanting to kill the man to actually grudgingly liking him, insanity and all.  
  
Finally, he stopped laughing, just in time to notice Sparrow staring at him looking as though he couldn't quite decide whether to laugh along with him or slap him. Sparrow cocked an eyebrow at him questioningly.  
  
"Sorry, I apologize. I don't know quite what came over me."  
  
"No apologies needed, mate. No harm in a good laugh. I think ye needed it any'ow."  
  
"Perhaps you're correct."  
  
Norrington collapsed onto the chair behind Sparrow's desk and put his face into the hand not attached to an injured shoulder and stared at nothing in particular.  
  
"Life is so strange. It's like some sort of odd dream sometimes..."  
  
"Aye, that it is. Never thought I'd have bloody James Norrington sitting in me cabin, ye know. I wonder how that happened?"  
  
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."  
  
"Try me, love."  
  
Norrington rolled his eyes.  
  
"Would you please refrain from calling me that?"  
  
"Calling ye what? 'Love?'"  
  
"Yes. That."  
  
Jack's grin simply widened.  
  
"Tell me how ye got 'ere and I'll think about it."  
  
Norrington sighed deeply. He knew instinctively that Sparrow would be as good as his word on this occasion: he'd not leave this ship until he spilled the beans. He might as well get it over with.  
  
"Well... I suppose it's part Elizabeth's fault, part your fault, and mostly my fault..."  
  
"Do continue, love."  
  
Jack continued grinning, and Norrington rolled his eyes yet again at the stupid address.  
  
"Well as you well know, Elizabeth played me for a sap, sending me after her true love under the lie that she'd marry me at the end."  
  
He tried not to let his bitterness seep into his tone, to sound nonchalant about it, but failed miserably. Sparrow interjected before he could continue.  
  
"Ye know, I like the whelp an' all, but I wasn't lyin. I really was rooting fer you."  
  
Norrington decided to continue without wasting a reply on that statement. Thankfully, Sparrow just leaned back and appeared to be settling in for the tale and allowing him to continue uninterrupted.  
  
"Well suffice it to say, my superiors were not pleased with the loss of the Interceptor and several men, nor were they at all pleased that I let you escape without contest. I suppose they probably would've been more merciful had I hanged Turner and chased after you immediately, but I suppose it's far too late to wonder about what might have been. Elizabeth, of course, never gave me a single word of thanks for saving her suitor, though her father apologized profusely following the outcome of my trial for everything he could think of possibly being sorry for. He even offered to get me a job with the government back in England, but I couldn't swallow my pride and accept it. I was rather depressed and aching to get back to sea-"  
  
Jack smiled wryly at that, but Norrington decided not to pay any attention to him.  
  
"-so I joined the crew of a common merchant vessel. Less than a week out of port, the ship, which was in poor condition to start with, sank during a storm. Myself and the crew rowed to the nearest port, which turned out to be your beloved Tortuga. A child stole my money the next day, I got beaten to a pulp by pirates the following night, and then apparently you picked me up and brought me here."  
  
Norrington deflated slightly, staring at his hands instead of looking at Sparrow. He had to admit though, that the weight of the tale seemed to diminish in the telling of it.  
  
After a few minutes of silence, Sparrow started chuckling, then laughing in earnest. Norrington felt offended, but he couldn't stop himself from laughing as well. It really was a ridiculous story, and now that he was no longer lost and alone, it was like a nightmare disappearing under the light of dawn. Sparrow's fit finally subsided, and Norrington's with it. Sparrow scrubbed the tears from the corners of his eyes and placed his hand on Norrington's good shoulder.  
  
"Mate, that's probably the saddest tale I've ever heard. Ye've 'ad no luck at all, leastways not until I found ye."  
  
Sparrow smirked at that proclamation, and gave Norrington's shoulder a solid squeeze and a little shake before withdrawing his hand.  
  
"Yes, I suppose it is a sad tale."  
  
"Well love, ye've kept up yer end of the bargain, and now I'll keep mine. Where d'ye want te go?"  
  
Norrington scratched his head. He hadn't really thought about it. Sparrow seemed to note his confusion.  
  
"If I were ye, I'd say ye've got two good alternatives. Either go back te Port Royal and be with yer friends, or go te that brother o' yers. I told ye b'fore that it doesn't make ye less a man to accept help from others, and I stand by tha' statement."  
  
Norrington just stared at his hands again. He knew Sparrow was right, but he didn't want to be proven to be as incompetent as his brother had always accused him of being. He wanted to stand on his own feet. But life, it seemed, would not allow him to do so. He noticed Sparrow standing, but didn't bother to look up until the pirate briefly ran his fingers through Norrington's hair as though he were a child.  
  
"Don' worry love, I'll take ye back te England. Don't worry about old Edward either. I dunno why yer so reluctant te see yer own brother, but I'd wager if he's got half yer sense of honor, he'll do right by ye. No shame in lettin' yer family help ye."  
  
---  
  
A couple months later, Norrington was in a dinghy rowing toward the docks at Southampton. He paused briefly, glancing back over him at the black sails in the distance. The Black Pearl didn't have quite the same notoriety in England as it did in the Caribbean, but Captain Sparrow hadn't wanted to risk getting too close, and dropped Norrington about an hour's rowing off shore with a heavy purse of Spanish gold and somewhat embarrassing bear- hug. His shoulder still ached, but he'd manage it. From Southampton, it would only be a scant few days till he reached London and his father's old estate, now belonging to his older brother. Despite Captain Sparrow's constant reassurance that things would work out fine since they were family and all, he couldn't help be apprehensive. He knew his brother would help him, of course, and it wouldn't be the first time Edward had gotten him out of a bind, but he didn't want to ponder the amount of ridicule he'd have to endure before he got it. He'd never live this one down.  
  
---  
  
The butler had tried to send him away when he first saw James Norrington standing at the door, believing him to be a beggar due to his ragged and unwashed appearance. It took much protesting and answering of personal questions before he was allowed to enter his childhood home. He stopped a few steps into the house and looked around. It had scarcely changed in the past few years. There were a couple paintings that hadn't been there before, but otherwise it was precisely as he had left it. It even smelled the same. He could have wept for the relief of it. He was home, finally. As such, he was lost in himself when his brother walked out of the parlor and stopped dead in his tracks, staring at him as though he were a ghost.  
  
"James? Is that you? Oh my God, it is you!"  
  
He was expecting many reactions from his brother, but not the one he got. Edward crossed the room to him at a near sprint, gathering his younger brother to him in a hug even more crushing than the one Captain Sparrow had given him at his farewell.  
  
"Thank heavens, it is you! Where on Earth have you been? I heard of your trial and later received a letter from governor Swann saying you'd disappeared from Port Royal without a trace! That was months ago! I thought you were dead!"  
  
Edward finally let go of him, allowing him to catch his breath. Finally Edward regarded him with humorous disapproval.  
  
"Begads, brother, you look like you've been sleeping in a ditch for half your life! You must tell me what you've been up to!"  
  
James Norrington laughed, and Edward soon joined him. Maybe things would turn out okay in the end after all. 


End file.
